The Wanderer of the Valley
by OpalOcean
Summary: Rodaìn, a young woman, has run away from home and spends her days aimlessly traveling. One day, the fellowship happens upon her. As Rodaìn reluctantly begins to trust, the company finds out more about this strange and anxious woman as secrets unravel.
1. Cloaked in Mystery

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.

She clambered over the dirt-covered rocks. Her feet continued to plod over the grassy landscape, tired and worn-over with blisters and scratches. Rodaìn limped slightly due to the poor condition of her feet. Earlier in her travels, her gray and white horse had collapsed after falling down a sudden rock-face. Unfortunately, she had to leave him behind due to her lack of healing skills and his two broken legs. It saddened her, but she had nowhere to turn back to.

Rodaìn's tense senses picked up the faint sounds of footsteps and rustling. She quickly turned around and her eyes noted figures not far behind herself. She whirled around, her feet shuffling in a haphazard direction. Her bulky brown cloak flapped with the hurried movements. _I must hide. I cannot be seen, not now. _

She managed to find a small grove of trees which she stumbled into. Frantically spinning around, Rodaìn found a tree that she could climb up, to hide from searching eyes. She was hyperventilating. She was panicking.

Rodaìn could not see well through the leafy foliage, but the noises grew louder over the conflict with the other noises of the valley. Peering through, she counted three definite figures, but there were an uncountable number of others traversing through the high grass. Rodaìn stayed silent and bit her lip, hard, in an attempt to control her breathing. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the tree branch she was perched on. Rodaìn waited in violent anxiety for the travelers to pass by.

"Legolas, I see no figure upon this hill. Did you notice where it may have gone off to?" a messy, dark brown-haired ranger questioned another figure as he sauntered up the hill, just to the right of the tree grove.

"I know not. Perhaps we should survey the area," a blonde elf suggested. Rodaìn had seen many elves during her stay at Rivendell, and had almost grown used to their beauty. However, they possessed an individual aura, one that never failed to stun her at every sight. Due to the light hair color and green garb, she assumed this elf hailed from Mirkwood.

Her body started to shake as she bit her lip harder at hearing their plan. _ Oh no. Can't be found. I cannot be found. Not back. Oh no. Not now._

Her breathing picked up again. She was on the verge of a panic attack. One of her fingers snapped a twig at the the sudden increase of pressure place upon it. The elf's head whipped towards the trees and Rodaìn held her trembling body still as best as she could. It was a poor attempt.

The elf strung his bow as he slowly advanced._ My bow. Oh no, now how will I avoid death. Then again, maybe it would be for the best._

Still yearning to protect herself, she slid her hand down her boot and gripped the biting metal of her dagger. Taking her bow off her shoulder would attract to much attention, and she had enough unwanted attention placed upon herself at the moment.

The elf halted several feet away from her tree, far enough that she knew her aim with her dagger may prove faulty. His eyes fully scanned her hooded form now, crouched and shaking against the tree branch.

Sticks crunched as the ranger approached her tree as well. She did not know what to do. She knew they each had the ability to outrun her and easily overpower her limited ability with weapons. Rodaìn waited for them to make the next move.

"I ask you to dismount this tree. Come down slowly and drop your dagger right now. We have you outnumbered and I regret to inform you that you do not stand a chance against us. We wish to seek your business in these uncharted lands."

She dropped her dagger, disappointed that she had not been as sneaky as she first thought. Rodaìn climbed down the tree slowly. She was scared. She did not know what they would do to her. One could never trust men, or elves for that matter. With no other choice, she turned to face them.

"I ask that you remove your hood, as we wish to know the identity of the one we question."

Her hand hovered over her mouth, her breaths coming out in a forced calmness so as not to reveal her true state of fright, and clasped the edge of her hood. Rodaìn glanced back up at the ranger, seeing him give her a slight nod at the beginnings of her action. She inhaled a deep breath through her nose, and dropped the hood of her cloak, wholly unprepared for the reaction to this action.


	2. Skittering Protection

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Rodaìn's gaze flickered to the ranger's eyes, then the elf's, and she registered the surprise in them. It was highly uncommon and improper for a woman to be traveling by herself.

"Milady, I am sorry. Had we known..." the ranger trailed off and gestured between himself and the elf, as the elf lowered his bow.

Rodaìn nodded her head in acknowledgement. She was still nervous and the tremors scurrying around her body would not stop.

"May I ask your name, milady?" the elf politely questioned. He had immediately noticed her shaking form and hurried breaths. She must have been frightened, and now was not the time for her to run off, as she may put herself in more danger.

She nodded her head again, and, after emitting a pitiful squeak, she put a fair amount of force behind her name, "Rodaìn."

"Rodaìn," the ranger repeated. "And where do you hail from?"

Another tremor rocked her body at this question and she lowered her eyes to hide her feelings. The ranger glanced at the elf at this action as they silently shared their observation. "Gondor. I am daughter of Hadlorn." She replied, her voice quaking only slightly on the name of her father. Though it was not necessarily a lie and her appearance followed her Gondorian heritage, Rodaìn was not birthed in Gondor.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Rodaìn of Gondor," the elf nodded to Rodaìn. "I am Legolas of the Mirkwood realm."

She lowered her head in acknowledgement, looking to the ranger for a similar introduction. "I am Aragorn," he replied somewhat gruffly. He did not fully trust this strange and frightened girl yet.

She flinched at his abruptness, taking a small step backwards.

The ranger, Aragorn, countered this movement and stepped forward. Legolas shifted forward as well, concerned at Aragorn's threatening actions. "What is a maiden such as yourself doing traveling alone and on foot? It seems highly improper. Are you lost perhaps? Or are you journeying somewhere?" Aragorn persistently questioned. At this, the elf put a hand on Aragorn's forearm, attempting to calm his friend's edginess.

Rodaìn felt guilty for an unknown reason, as if she believed some odd suspicion that she may be a spy. "I-," she cleared my throat and started again. "I am journeying. To Rohan." Again, another half-lie. She simply needed to restock some supplies before heading off again.

"Well, milady, it is not safe for you to be traveling alone. I ask that you consider accompanying us on a duration of our journey, as we will near Rohan at some point."

Rodaìn picked her feet up and placed them down in anxiousness. She was not comfortable with such an arrangement. Could they not see that?

Legolas, the elf, must have picked up on her unease as he spoke next and tried to reassure the woman. "I assure you, you will be safe with us, Lady Rodaìn. We will do our best to protect you."

"I am not in need of protection," she stuttered out, flustered.

Aragorn and Legolas looked at Rodaìn in shock and she quickly realized the mistake in her outburst. "Please forgive me, I meant no harm. I am sorry for being inconsiderate. I greatly appreciate your offer. I-, I would be glad to accept your offer. I thank you greatly. I beg your forgiveness," she continued rambling. Her posture turned inwards as she guarded herself from an unseen force.

Aragorn put a hand up, halting her rambling. He seemed to finally notice her stress and relaxed his words. "There is no need for apologies, Lady Rodaìn. It is quite all right. Most women seem to beg for such attention and you simply surprised us. It is a bit of a welcome relief, would you not say, Legolas?" The elf nodded his assent, quietly observing the anxious girl. Aragorn seemed warmer now, perhaps due to her frightened posture. He did not like to see women in pain. "We welcome your company. I feel much better now that you plan to join us."

Rodaìn nodded timidly, still unsure of herself and her decision.

"The six other members of our fellowship await just outside these trees. We shall rejoin them now. I apologize again for startling you," Aragorn told her, gently returning her dropped dagger.

Rodaìn pocketed the weapon and followed the man and the elf back into the valley. She was greeted by the sight of another man, a red-haired dwarf, and four small hobbits. Aragorn presented her to the company. "This is Lady Rodaìn of Gondor, daughter of Hadlorn." Rodain's eyes skittered downward at this name again, and Legolas noted the strange response. Aragorn continued on, "Lady Rodaìn, the hobbits are Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrin Took, and Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire. The dwarf is Gimli, son of Glóin, and the man is Boromir, son of Denethor- the steward of Gondor." Aragorn addressed the company now, "Lady Rodaìn will be traveling with us until we reach Rohan. Until that point, I expect that you welcome and treat her with the utmost respect. She is a guest, and a lady, and it is our duty to look out for her."

Rodaìn looked up again at these kind words, never before truly hearing a man talk in such a way. _Surely it is all a fib? Some ploy to get me to trust them. This man seemed hostile earlier, it must be a front._ Rodaìn did not believe such kindness, and, though she greatly appreciated it, she still held tightly to her treasured and cracked gem of trust that had been previously ravaged. Not easily did she trust others, and the same would be held for this new group.

"It is nearing nightfall. I do believe we must set up a camp soon," Boromir quietly observed, pulling the group to a task and out of the silence. Rodaìn shied away from him, this man of Gondor, and inched nearer to the trees yet again.

"Indeed it has," Aragorn agreed absentmindedly as he watched Rodaìn's actions closely. "Let us proceed a bit further until an appropriate camping area is found.

Once they arrived at a clearing near a river, the fellowship dispersed and set about their appropriate jobs in erecting the camp. Lost, Rodaìn aimlessly wandered in circles for a few moments. Settling on an idea, she washed her hands in the river, splashing some drops in a poor attempt to tame a few of her bushy brown curls. Rodaìn sat near the hobbits and the fire they were buildling and took inventory of the cooking supplies. It was much more than she had carried, and she was able to quickly prepare a satisfactory meal, despite the protests from the hobbits that she need not work. The meal greatly appeased all the fellowship's appetites and gained her several compliments to which she replied with embarrassed blushes.

When night fell, Rodaìn set up her sleeping bag as far as safety would allow from the other members of the group. Aragorn had assured her that she need not take over a time slot for guard duty. Despite the distance between herself and the rest of the fellowship, Rodaìn found little comfort in the sleeping situation. She tossed and turned, hoping her struggles of near-sleep and fits in sleep would go unnoticed by the ever-present and ever-changing watchman. Sadly, all did not proceed as hoped.


	3. A Silly Dream

**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.**

The hobbits and Gimli had fallen asleep quickly, wearisome from the many days of traveling. Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas sat around the fire, conversing about the new addition to the company.

"She seemed quite frightened to me when you brought her out. Are you sure she will not be too much of a burden?" Boromir asked the group in a hushed voice. "I would not like this mission to be slowed for the sake of an incompetent woman," he muttered as an afterthought.

Aragorn sighed, "I do not know, Boromir." He rubbed a hand over his creased forehead in an attempt to smooth his piling levels of stress. "She does carry a bow with her," he said as the group cast a glance at the figure in the distance. "Perhaps she possesses some skill so as not to burden us too much. However, she is a woman, and we cannot simply leave her here. You must say the meal she cooked was quite good as well."

"So it was. It does appear as if she has been traveling for quite a while," Legolas observed while still looking at Rodaìn.

"Indeed. I do not know how she has fared so well. Her anxiousness and panic were hard to miss when we came upon her," Aragorn wondered.

"Why have a reason to fear us? We are clearly not of the enemy," Boromir brazenly asked.

"Did you notice how she flinched and cast her eyes downwards at the mention of her homeland? I do believe it may have something to do with Gondor," Legolas proposed a potential answer.

Aragorn answered, "I did notice. She seemed to shy away from Boromir as well when he spoke. I do not know why she would have a reason to fear Gondor-"

"There is no safer place than Gondor!" Boromir protectively declared. "It must be some other reason. Perhaps she is simply afraid of the upcoming war. Or mayhaps she misses her family and is homesick."

"Perhaps. I still-" Aragorn was cut off by a whimper.

The group stood up and turned towards Rodaìn's squirming figure. Legolas was already on his feet, silently making his way towards her.

Suddenly, Rodaìn sat up with a gasp. Her arms immediately hugged her cloaked body in a protective position.

"Lady Rodaìn?" Rodaìn's head whipped around at Legolas' questioning voice and strayed swiftly over the rest of the party. However, she quickly turned her head downwards, hiding the salty liquid escaping from her eyes. "Milady?" Legolas questioned again.

"I am fine." Rodaìn's voice declared. She could not have them worry. They did not need to think her any weaker than she already appeared. She hoped to prove her skill in archery so they would not think her totally helpless. However, she was stuck here, tears slipping down the slopes of her face and the three members of the fellowship gazing concernedly at her. She hoped they would not see her tears. "It was just a silly dream. I thank you for your concern though," Rodaìn dismissed them coldly, turning her head.

Left standing before a slumped figure and a wall of curled hair, Legolas glanced helplessly at Aragorn and Boromir. None seemed overly experienced in handling an obviously hurt woman denying comfort.

Stepping up, Aragorn said, "Of course, milady. I do hope you find peace in your sleep. Please do not be afraid to seek us if you are in need of anything."

Aragorn's offer was met with the slightest of nods and Boromir turned back to the fire to stand guard, leaving Aragorn and Legolas to rest. Neither found sleep easily, however, as the puzzled over Rodaìn's most recent display.


	4. Grubby Hands

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**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.**

Rodaìn woke up from a blank sleep. She laid tense and alert, with closed eyes, until the other members of the company aroused from their dreams. _Always pretending. Why worry about trusting others, it is myself they should truly worry about trusting. What a selfish fool. _Rodaìn stiffened even more and exited her deep labyrinthine mind as she heard substantial footsteps aproach her still form.

"Lady Rodaìn," a voice prompted.

Rodaìn's eyes jumped open to view the large and hairy feet of a carrot-haired hobbit. "Good morning Master Took," Rodaìn told the now startled hobbit.

"Good morning, miss. You may call me Pip or Pippin if you would like. Merry and I were about to start on breakfast if you would want to help," Pippin greeted kindly.

Rodaìn smiled at Pippin's invitation. Perhaps it was his seemingly ever-present grin or childishly michevious attitude, but Pippin's character drew Rodaìn in. "I would like that," Rodaìn answered. "I will join you in just a moment, if you would allow me to wash by the river."

"Of course, milady." Pippin turned back to the fire as Rodaìn purposefully made her way to the river. After washing her sparsely freckled face and dampening her frizzled hair, Rodaìn joined him and Merry in the preparation of breakfast.

Following an uneventful breakfast, Rodaìn witnessed Frodo venture into the woods after speaking with Aragorn. She did not know of what he was troubled, but she recognized some of the same tenseness and worried gazes that she often displayed. Aragorn proceeded to train and spar with Merry and Pippin to improve their weaponry skills. Legolas wandered below the towering treetops and Rodaìn ventured back to her isolated area which contained her bedroll and pack.

She continued making new arrows for her shrinking arsenal, carefully sharpening and shaping the tender wood. The flakes of unneeded wood drifted to the ground, sprinkling upon the piles of withering fall leaves on the forest floor.

Over an hour passed, and Rodaìn's fingers were sore from the intricate art of arrow crafting. Aragorn presented Rodaìn with an ample distraction with his concerned realization. "Frodo is not back yet. He should have returned long before now," Aragorn stated, standing from his resting position and capping his water skin.

"Aye, where is Boromir as well?" Merry asked the group.

"Oh no," Aragorn mumbled as he saw Boromir's silver shield gleaming in the afternoon sunlight, alone and abandoned. Aragorn shared a worried look with Legolas.

Rodain slowly walked closer to the gathering as this conversation took place. She had tied her hair back and now carried her ivory-tinted bow on her shoulders. Despite her alterations to her exterior appearance, her interior demeanor displayed itself through her slightly lowered head and unsure yet silent movements forward.

Snapping twigs from the forest distracted the worried company, and they turned to see Boromir emerge from the woods. The branches, painted with leaves of dead goldenrod, vanished behind Boromir's large stature.

"Boromir! Where is Frodo?" Aragorn quickly questioned the newcomer.

With a slightly hesitant voice, Boromir relayed to the group that he had attempted to convince Frodo to take the ring to Minas Tirith. Rodaìn did not particularly understand this information, and looked to the group in question, unsuccessfully seeking to glean explanation from their expressions. Boromir finished his story, stating that him and Frodo then had a quarrel, after which Frodo donned the ring and vanished from sight. This ring, whatever it may be, Rodaìn reasoned, must be highly powerful.

Before any could stop them, the two normally humorous hobbits set off to find their friend Frodo, with grimly concerned expressions. Not wanting the hobbits lost or in danger, Aragorn quickly instructed Boromir to follow the hobbits. Legolas and Gimli swiftly headed off to the eastern section of the forest to search for the hobbit and his valuable possession elsewhere.

Rushed and worried, Aragorn turned to the nearly-ignored Rodaìn and instructed her to stay at the campsite, for the good of her protection. Aragorn proceeded to enter the woods at a sprint in order to recover the lost member of the fellowship.

Rodaìn stood in the clearing in a near daze, but, after hearing the din of a distant battle, disobeyed Aragorn's request. Running through the woods and stumbling over fallen trees and stray stones, Rodaìn easily found her way to the battle scene.

Though she had been forced to take on the occasional orc, Rodaìn was temporarily stunned by the number of orcs engaging in battle with Boromir. She quickly assessed the situation, and brought her bow and a recently made arrow to the crevice of her cheek and shoulder. She was able to fire several shots at the orcs attacking the hobbits. The hobbits, though valiantly fighting and employing skills from their lessons with Aragorn and Boromir, were losing ground and slowly becoming outnumbered. Leaving Boromir to fend for himself, Rodaìn bravely stepped forward to fight for the two hobbits she had felt most comfortable around and welcomed from.

After firing her last few arrows from her limited supply, Rodaìn timidly entered the fray with her dagger. Slashing several wounds on the orcs' molten skin, Rodaìn fought to protect the hobbits, and now herself, as she finally realized the immense danger she had put herself into. Having no armor, she was slashed numerous times by the orcs' crude weapons. The burns of the wounds sharpened Rodaìn's mind and brought her an odd delivery of confidence as she continued to ward off the orcs with the hobbits. No thought of Frodo lingered in Rodaìn's mind any longer. However, she believed the protection of the ringbearer was a sole factor spurring Merry and Pippin's peristent and sharp stabs with their swords.

Despite this effort, the small group proved no match as the orcs crowded their weak targets. Rodaìn noticed with surprise that none of the three fighters, neither she nor the hobbits, had fallen yet. _This is not right. It is like they are drawing this out, to torture us. _As she blocked an orc's attack to her shoulder, Rodain yelped in sudden surprise as her dagger was knocked out of her white-knuckled grip by a previously unseen orc to the right of her.

With the limited use of her hands, Rodain was quickly overpowered and seized by the wrists as the grubby hands of another orc behind her encaptured her sweating fists. Shocked and panicked, Rodain realized she must have drifted from Merry and Pippin. She gasped in pain as an orc with a disfigured left eye and cheek kicked her in her stomach and thighs with his bulky boot. Still, she turned her head back to look for the hobbits. Her eyes widened in fright and pain as she witnessed Merry and Pippin getting thrown over the backs of orcs, as an orc simultaneously pushed her head into a tree, encompassing her vision in hazy waves of black. Thick and probing fingers fixed on her waist and her breath hitched a final time as she was thrown into unconsciousness after her head smacked on the rigid armor covering an orc's magma-like back. She did not hear Boromir's tortured scream. She did not hear Aragorn's frantic whispers. She did not hear Legolas and Gimli's stunned gasps. She did not hear the pleased chatter of the orcs at their latest capture.


	5. Drenched in Wine

**Warning: Violence does appear in this chapter. Please read only if you are comfortable. It occurs in the last paragraphs, but I do not see the violence getting any more graphic later on. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.**

Hurried shoves and a harshly whispered word nudged Rodaìn out of her blank travels. "Lady Rodaìn. Rodaìn, please." Rodaìn jerked upwards and to view a bleary night. "Miss?"

Rodain turned her dazed vision to the questioning hobbit next to her. "Yes, Pippin? Where are we?" However, as she asked this, the memories of the orc attack clouded her already troubled mind.

"We are at the orc camp, we were captured. Are you injured, Lady Rodaìn?"

Rodaìn reached up to feel her head, but was dismayed as she discovered the rough binding that imprisoned her wrists. As her hands fell back down to her lap, she noticed the painful pressure on her stomach. _I will have to wrap that later. My head is swirling too much right now. Swirling black lines. Changing and shifting. Never what they appear. _Still dizzy, Rodaìn vaguely replied, "I shall live. How are you two?" she questioned Merry and Pippin.

"We are fine, just a bit worried is all. We do not know what they plan to do to us."

"I am sure we shall be able to escape in no time," Rodaìn reassured the hobbits with a faint upward motion on the corners of her chapped lips. She had been observing the camp and immediately noticed the overwhelming number of orcs setting up the site. She was disgusted by them, and began formulating a route of escape. However, she soon realized the impossible quality of such a task. Despite their uncivilized appearance, they kept close watch on their prisoners and campsite.

The orcs finished setting up their camp and the complaints of hungry bodies made themselves known. One of the orcs approached the hobbits, claiming they may make a good meal. Making herself known, Rodaìn defended them, "You shall not disturb them."

"Oh, the little lady knows how to talk. Let's fry her up instead," the orc snickered.

"They are not for eating," one of the orc leaders suddenly and brashly declared. With that, he pulled out his sword and chopped off the snickering orc's head. Rodaìn and the hobbits scooted backwards in fright as the orcs rushed forward to their cannibalistic meal. Limbs were picked and speared to sear over the fires.

The orcs sitting around the fires and waiting for their grotesque meal grew impatient. Rodaìn did not know what to do. She had never been a leader, never one to formulate complex plans. She did have an overly adequate amount of experience sneaking around though. Nearly silent footsteps had developed into an extremely useful habit.

Rodaìn scooted closer to the wide-eyed hobbits, always maintaining a constant watch on the orcs. "Merry. Pippin," she hissed, not wanting to be heard but needing to rouse the two hobbits from their wide-eyed stupor over the orc's gruesome actions.

"Y-yes, miss?" Merry shakily replied. Rodaìn noticed him and Pippin were doing their best to hold hands, despite the ropes that bound them so harshly. She was touched and warmed by such an action, never truly experiencing such a friendship with anyone.

"I think I have figured out a plan for us to escape," she told the halflings, doing her best to hold her voice steady. Merry and Pippin turned their heads to her expectantly, silently urging her to continue. "We can wait until their meal is ready, so they will all find themselves occupied with eating. Then, you two can slowly scoot towards that bush over there and cut your bindings loose," she stated, nodding her head towards a patch of thick foliage near the entrance of the forest and a discarded knife she had noticed early, half-hidden beneath the brambles and dirt of the forest floor. "After you help each other free, run swiftly into the woods. There is only room for the two of you behind that bush, and I shall have to go after you. Do not fear, I shall catch up to you not long after. If I do not, continue running until you find safety." Rodaìn finished telling her plan, but did not tell them the high likelihood that the orcs would quickly notice the disappearance of the hobbits. She did not tell them of the distraction she meant to cause, allowing Merry and Pippin further time to escape. She did not tell the hobbits that it would most likely end in her death.

"What a brilliant idea, Lady Rodaìn," Pippin said, a bit too loudly, drawing the unwanted attention of a three or four orcs.

"Shut up, Pip," Merry whispered and harshly nudged Pippin with his shoulder.

"Ouch, Merry, now what'd you do that for?" Pippin hissed back.

"Shhh, please be quiet," Rodaìn said quietly, discretely casting worried glances between the orcs and herself and the hobbits. "Now, they are just finishing preparing their meal. You must go now, this is when they will be busiest."

"Okay, see you soon, miss," Merry bid farewell to Rodaìn. "Come on, Pip," he urged his cousin along as they scooted closer to the designated bush.

Several seconds after Rodaìn witnessed the hobbits dash to the woods, she struggled to push herself up and gathered the remaining dregs of her courage. "Excuse me, but do you think I could have some food?" Rodaìn asked the orcs, trying her best to sound naïve and with no disgust in her voice.

The majority of the group turned towards Rodaìn, stunned at their captive's question. "Well, the girl is hungry, is she?" an orc with a distinctive limp on his left leg sneered with a smirk, as he struggled upright and began hobbling towards her stiff frame.

Rodaìn resisted the temptation to back away from the crude being of evil approaching her. Sucking in her breath and trying to ease her body, Rodaìn nodded her head.

"Well, maybe you'd like a bit to drink first, some red wine perhaps?" the orc snickered, beckoning her forward. Rodaìn hesitantly started forward, not sure of what trickery they would employ upon her.

She was suddenly shoved from behind by an orc guard and stumbled forward, landing on her stomach as her bound hands twisted beneath her and collied with her injured ribs. Gasping from the pain, she quickly bit down on her lip to barracade a yelp of pain from escaping. Venomous chuckles surrounded her now, as Rodaìn twisted her head to view the amused circle of orcs surrounding her. _It's for the hobbits. It's for Merry and Pippin. They deserve life. I can take it. At least I was not duped and ensared into this pain._

The orcs parted in front of her to reveal the same limping, sneering orc that offered her a drink. Rodaìn held back a cringe as he entered with a trailing vine of glistening thorns, but managed to contain the tremors that begged to ravage her body.

"Now, we always like a bit of fun before our wine, don't we?" the orc questioned the group, holding his stare on Rodaìn's fallen form. He was answered be a series of grunts and anticipated rumbles. Rodaìn did her best to hold the orc's glare, still fighting despite her hindered limbs.

Without warning, Rodaìn saw the orc's arm travel to the sky, the vine of jeweled thorns trailing after it like a snake. Rodaìn instinctively pulled her head inward and downward at the familiar gesture of a raised hand, and was stunned with torment as the metallic whip slashed her prone back and shredded through her cloak and skin with its lance-like shards. The excruciating pain ripped her voice from her body, allowing a sudden cry escape before she crashed her teeth onto her bleeding bottom lip to contain her unwanted display of affliction. Water darted down her dirt-crusted eyelashes and escaped the chaos to be with the grime and filth-laden ground. Three more strikes agonized her tense yet trembling muscles and blood poured forth from the wounds. Rodaìn could not focus on the orcs snickers and whoops. She could only focus on the pain and her desire to save the hobbits from such disastrous pain. _I cannot let another endure this. Not ones so innocent and joy-filled. I can take it. I can hold it._

Laying in pain on her stomach with her wrists still twisted beneath her, and her back burning with the bloody stings of four torturous lashes, Rodaìn received an odd feeling of relief from the pain that had erupted. She had taken it on. She had saved the hobbits.

An orc from the sidelines grunted and then questioned. "Now where'd the two halflings go, they'd make some good entertainment. Bring the halflings in!" he shouted. A cacophony of shouts echoed after this statement, but died down then grew to a new crescendo at the discovery of the missing hobbits.

"The girl! She distracted them so that they could get away!" an orc deducted.

"Oh, girl you'll pay for this one now won't you. You'll pay for this one," the limping orc growled as he readied his murderous whip again with a burning hate in his opaque black eyes. Rodaìn could not watch any longer. Not being a complete coward, she turned her gaze downward and stared at the blood-splattered ground, drenched in a deep maroon cloak. The ground that reflected and absorbed the vital liquid, the rich wine of the body. The orcs had not yet drank their fill.


	6. Grabbed

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**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.**

Rodaìn's gaze jerked from the blood-stained ground that was sure to grow in size when she heard the sudden snapping of branches and an eager and frantic cry. "Wait! We were just exploring. We're back now! Don't hurt her, you rotten orc!"

Rodaìn's head turned fully to see Merry and Pippin scrambling from nearby foliage and into the circle of orcs. _Oh no, I have failed them now. They surely cannot make it out of this. Stupid girl, always thinking you can save them. _Rodaìn's brain frantically skittered from berating herself to hurriedly thinking of a new escape plan. Obviously, the hobbits would not leave without her. _Why couldn't they just save themselves? No one seems to listen to me. If there is a chance before I die I will have to confront them over their foolishness. _

"Oomph, get off me, Merry," Pippin complained as they were simultaneously thrown to the ground. The recent pain from the whipping kept Rodaìn's senses sharp. However, as her body slowly drained of blood, her energy and consciousness progressively dissipated.

"Please hold on, Miss Rodaìn," Merry whispered, reaching out for Rodaìn's nearly limp hand. Pippin, meanwhile, stared at Rodaìn's shredded back in horror as his face paled.

"I'll be all right Merry, Pippin. We just need to get out of here," she replied. Rodaìn gave a warm but strained smile to comfort the concerned hobbits.

"Now, quit your talking. Looks like we found the halflings, time for more fun," an orc smirked as the pack gathered in closer to the three captives.

A startled screech and the clash of metal interrupted the orcs' encroaching movements. They turned, only to be faced and caught unprepared by valiant soldiers battling stunned orcs on horseback. The grace and skill of the armor-clad horsemen greatly contrasted the crude and disfigured orc warriors.

"Quick, we must go," Rodaìn barely noticed the slight tugging on her wrists as Pippin cut through the ropes with the use of a fallen sword. Pippin grabbed Rodaìn's forearms and helped to drag her up. Rodaìn struggled. She bit her tongue to distract herself and heaved her draining body upright.

Rodaìn urged the hobbits forward. "Come, hurry. Lead the way you two," Rodaìn urged, stumbling slightly and putting a weak hand to each hobbit's back. Merry and Pippin rushed forward through the woods as Rodaìn did her best to follow behind, stumbling over stray sticks and roots. "Keep going," Rodaìn whispered over and over again.

She noticed the hobbits dashing through the forest, adrenaline driving their large feet onward, stomping away from the evil that had grasped them. They ran until they were suddenly grabbed by a gargantuan and rough hand- an ent. As the hobbits were carried to safety, slipping into sleep after a tiring experience, Rodaìn stumbled blindly on, far behind the hobbits, nearer to the entrance of the Fangorn Forest.

A coarse hand grasped Rodaìn's shoulder, setting the wounds afire. Rodaìn fell to the ground, but was quickly picked up and thrown over the shoulder of a figure. However, this figure was not an ent, but an orc. The orc had chased after the escaped captives shortly after the armed horsemen appeared. The orc trundled through the trees, away from the fighting, and Rodaìn's swimming mind finally sank into an exhausted sleep.


	7. Twisted Concoction

**I hope you all enjoyed a lovely holiday!**

**Thank you wonderfully for your gracious reviews! The constructive criticism is greatly appreciated (special thanks to previouslyjade for pointing out my embarrassing error in the summary of the story). As some of you noticed, the former chapter was rather short, and I apologize for the abruptness. Instinctively, I would list out my pathetic excuses, but, as that would not alter the length of the previous chapter and most likely bore you horribly, I shall not. ****Any and all reviews are appreciated! I hope you enjoy your weekend.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.**

A rough kick to her stomach caused Rodaìn to jerk awake. She curled inward at the sudden pain and emitted a sharp whimper when the agony from the whiplashes carved into her back arose. However, her eyes quickly flitted open to survey the danger and the current position she was in.

"Up, girl. Fast," the gravelly voice of an orc instructed her.

Rodaìn's body stiffened and she struggled to reach an upright position in order to fully assess her situation. Yet, this was nearly impossible to attain at first, as she slid back to the coarse, sun-dried grass when her bound hands provided no support.

This time, taking care of her hands, she managed to push her scratched face off of the rough ground and sat up so that she balanced on her knuckles.

The orc grunted. "Come, girl," the creature ordered as he pulled on the rope that was tied to her bound hands. He turned around and began dragging her forward.

Though Rodaìn's face was slicked with sweat and tinged with blood, and cracked tendrils of curls were glued to her forehead by this revolting paste, Rodaìn struggled to maintain some portion of her dignity. She would not be so easily cowed by a lone orc. This situation greatly differed from when she was trapped by hundreds of orcs alongside Merry and Pippin.

_Merry and Pippin!_ She hoped they had gotten away safely. The two hobbits did not need to endure more pain. _I can handle it. _She believed they had eluded the chasing orcs, but she would not be fully at peace until she saw their lovely heads of curly locks again. Rodaìn had grown to care for the hobbits dearly, regardless of the fact that they were older than her. Their eager dispositions brought light to her heart, and she had not experienced such open friendliness before.

With thoughts of her friends and her own strength in mind, Rodaìn reached for a substantial breath and quickly gasped as she pushed herself to her feet. Her leather slippers clung to her blistered soles and she managed to drag her legging-clad legs forward.

The orc turned his head towards her to view the cause of the lightened burden. He said nothing and continued onward.

Rodaìn was disoriented. She was usually adept at harboring a general sense of direction which aided her greatly through her wandering travels, but she possessed no knowledge of how far the orc had taken her while the black blankets of unconsciousness blindfolded her.

She constantly stumbled in her efforts to keep up with the orcs' steady pace. As they progressed, Rodaìn realized that the orcs' eyesight and direction were trained on a diminishing line of smoke that spiraled off and faded into the pale blue-gray sky.

As they neared the smoke and came abreast a gently sloping hill, the desired endpoint became apparent. Rodaìn's eyes followed the grayish smoke to a plummet down to the scorched and ashy bodies of orcs. These were the orcs that the horsemen must have burned after the battle at the site at which she and the hobbits had been imprisoned. A sickening smell permeated the air and invaded Rodaìn's nostrils. The pile of orcs was a conglomeration of severed heads, shredded arms, and speared bodies. Rodaìn shivered at the sight. Though she was not cold, she instinctively grabbed for her clunky brown coat to wrap around her arms in a sad attempt of a comforting embrace. But, it was not there. The orcs must have stolen her cloak during the time of her captivity and she had not even noticed. At the time, the necessities of survival had overtaken her concern for her material possessions.

Rodaìn's eyes watered slightly at the sight of the burnt bodies. She did not know if it was from the rancid stench or the overwhelming feeling and picture of _death _that haunted her being, or the twisted concoction of both that brewed in her mind. Rodaìn did not care to dwell on it.

Always liking to be observant, Rodaìn turned her gaze to the orc and noticed his general indifference to the scene, despite the fact that his fellow army had morphed into a mutilated and grotesque pile of carcasses. _How does one feel such indifference? Do they feel nothing but rage and greed?_

The orc began speaking to her. "Listen, girl. I'm hungry." _Ah, so they feel hunger as well_. "You go get me a head and liver. I'll be right here watching ya, and if you take off- you're dead," he sneered, gesturing to his bow and quiver of arrows that were likely pile of bodies was still a fair distance away, and the orc wanted Rodaìn to get the orc remains in the case that someone may happen upon whoever was gathering the "food." The orc knew he would be killed on sight. However, the bodies were not far enough away that the orc could not shoot her if she began to run. There were no trees close enough to rush to in time, and she did not want to test this orc's accuracy if he was confident enough to know she would not escape if it meant immediate death.

"Go!" The orc snarled at Rodaìn. Rodaìn stared. She still could not think of a proper plan- this was most likely the only sliver of opportunity she would be offered. A sudden punch to the face and a kick from the orc caused Rodaìn to stumble forward. "Go now, stupid girl! I was going to eat you tomorrow, but I will eat you tonight if you don't obey me, you disobedient wench! Be fast!"

Rodaìn guided her trembling legs toward the ashy carcasses. She did not want to be eaten. When she reached the outskirts of the pile, she took shaky footsteps to the nearest orc head in her line of sight. As she squatted down to pick it up, she tried to ignore the stab wound through the enlarged eyeball and the missing chunk of scalp that was stained with smeared orc blood. However, the horrifying image of the head of the orc appeared in faded red through her eyelids every time she blinked. Rodain scooted closer and gingerly reached for the orcs charred hair, hoping it would not crumble in her grip. Her hands were still bound by the rough rope, making it difficult to carry the orc's head. The weight of the head dragged the ropes down on her wrists, burning the areas previously rubbed raw from her desperate attempts at escape.

As she slowly straightened herself, the tender skin on her back burned, worsening her already horrid situation. Even if she did attempt to run at this moment, the pain from her back would make it excruciating to move, which would allow her to sprint only a few meters before the pain would overtake her being.

Holding the crusty hair cautiously in her dirty fingertips, Rodaìn was forced to approach the mass of bodies in order to find the liver that the orc desired. _How should I even know what an orc liver looks like? Judging by the orcs' appetites, I am assuming the orc that captured me knows of the liver's appearance. Therefore, it would be fruitless to try to fool him. _With a sigh, Rodaìn stepped forward, and lurched slightly over an uneven bump in the ground. She looked down. The sight that greeted her made her sick.

A man. The majority of his face and shoulder had crumbled from the fire and his bones shone ivory amid the ashes. His left leg was severed below the knee from a wound inflicted by an orc and his torso was twisted with shreds of cloth, skin, blood, and ash. Rodaìn could not see any other men amid the orc bodies. But everyone here was dead. Death does not consider race. Death considers little.

Rodaìn almost felt the contents of the stomach come up, but she forced them down. However, the object that she stumbled over, attached to an outstretched arm, was a spear. Rodaìn suddenly dropped the orc head she had been carrying. Quickly, pretending to search for a liver among the stray appendages and bodies, Rodaìn efficiently sawed through the inside of her bindings, but stopped when mere strands were all that held the rope together. In this way, after a decent rest, Rodaìn assumed she could break the ropes using little force in order to escape from the orc while he was sleeping during the night in the future. Satisfied with her plan, Rodaìn picked up the orc head once again and continued her search for the orc liver. Unknown by Rodaìn due to her muddle thoughts, the orc had warped her into a slave.

She blindly kicked through orc remains in search of a liver, staining her leather slippers with the dark blood of orcs. Almost ready to lean down to pick up a random smattering of orc remains, Rodaìn suddenly heard the distinctive pounding of hooves of several horses. Rodaìn immediately turned towards the hill that the orc that had captured her stood atop, and witnessed him send an arrow her way before turning around and sprinting back to the forest. Rodaìn let out a surprised yelp and ducked. But, in his haste, the orc's aim had gone awry and the arrow landed harmlessly in the head of an orc several meters to the right of Rodaìn's crouched form.

Remembering the hooves and not having the time to look and determine their race or affiliation, Rodaìn swallowed her disgust and pain, dropped the orc head she had been carrying, and squirmed underneath the heavy torso of an orc and the leg of another. She desperately hoped that the horses and riders would pass by, and that her already bloodied clothes would blend in. Rodaìn's breathing increased in pace as her anxiety grew. _There is too much. There is so much horror here.__ I am smothered under the dead, as if they have conquered me. _

While lying in wait, Rodaìn quickly slipped the rope bonds of her shaking hands after breaking the final threads. When the pounding sounds of the hooves yielded, a violent tremor shook Rodaìn's frightened body as a desperate scream ripped through the eerie fabric of the atmosphere. An object thudded near Rodaìn's hiding place. The glassy onyx eyes of the decapitated head of an orc stared at Rodaìn, penetrating the eyelids that attempted to shield her own frantic blue eyes from these dark tragedies of horror.


	8. Against Her Thoughts

**(Just a fair notice that the story will begin to divert from the movies a bit.)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.**

Rodaìn held her breath in wait as she heard the faint murmuring of voices up the hill. She was beginning to feel suffocated under the bodies, and the ashy stench of dead orcs pervaded her nose.

Hesitant steps began to approach. The members of the party were silent and, as Rodaìn was on the opposite side of the pile of bodies, she could not determine whether or not this party was a potential enemy. She prayed they would move on quickly so that she may continue on her way to Rohan alone. She wished to travel to Rohan to purchase a horse, as her old one had died. It was well known that Rohan bred the finest of horses, and she hoped she could find one for a low price. Rodaìn had always loved animals, and worked in the horse stables in her spare time back at home. Hopefully, a horse would provide her a bit of company for her endless journeys through the land. Luckily, a horse would not ask her any questions she would not feel comfortable talking about.

Rodaìn was brought back from her musings as she heard someone or _something_ rifling through the bodies on the other side of the pile. Rodaìn quickly brought a hand to her mouth like a trap door snapping shut to hide the rambling victims inside. Her body became stiff. Rodaìn desperately hoped that they would not find her. Over time, she seemed to have mastered the technique of blending into her surroundings and hiding in corners, but that only worked among people during large gatherings. Rodaìn hoped she blended in with the orc carcasses. Surely her ashy face, due to blood loss, and mud-smeared skin and clothing aided her case.

However, the boots clunked closer to her and Rodaìn heard metal connecting with the orcs' armor. A sword? An axe? This creature has a weapon drawn? _Oh no, what was I thinking? I should have kept the tip of that spear in my hand. _

The noises stopped. Rodain remained frozen. A hand reached over Rodaìn. It grabbed something resting on top of the body covering her still form, and retreated. One of her ears was pressed into the grass but the other caught the sound of a gruff voice. A vaguely familiar gruff voice. The cells in her brain scrambled through her folders of knowledge to connect the parts, but a brief glimpse between the arm and torso of the orc that covered her showed Rodain the red bushel of hair that she knew: Gimli, son of Glóin.

The Fellowship was here. Rodaìn quickly determined the remaining members: Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Boromir. That is, if any had not died yet. _Should I reveal myself? Are they even worrying for me? They are most likely just searching for Merry and Pippin. I cannot trust them. If I do not reveal myself, they shall pass over me and I can continue on my way to Rohan. I will not trust them. It is never safe to trust anyone. I was merely a burden to them; they would not want me anyways._

Rodaìn's mind was halted at the sound of a figure falling to the ground. Another eerie scream tore through the air like before, filled with bitter anguish. Rodaìn hopelessly wished to reveal herself to comfort the one whom had screamed- Aragorn or Boromir, she assumed. In the time that she had spent with Legolas, he had never revealed an outpouring of emotion, and she did not believe it would be him now. It was a natural reaction of Rodaìn's- to comfort others. Perhaps it was because she recognized the suffering and pain withheld in that scream, and she was able to relate to it because she was familiar with anguish and hurt in her own life.

Rodaìn was startled, however, when she heard a voice speak, and she concentrated so as to interpret the conversation. "Two hobbits lay here, and a human," the voice, she recognized as Aragorn, spoke. Rodaìn was intrigued now, and she followed Aragorn's words as he tracked their movements from the night prior. "Their hands were bound, but their bonds were cut."

When she heard the group move away from her position, Rodaìn let out a small sigh as she slowly removed her clenched hand from her mouth.

"Is that blood?" Rodaìn recognized Legolas' voice.

She imagined Aragorn bending down to examine the bloodstained grass that remained after Pippin cut Rodaìn's bonds and pulled her upright so that they could escape the battle scene. "Either from a hobbit or a human, but it is not orc blood. There is enough of that scattered around to clearly view the difference."

"Who was injured? Did the orcs torture one of them?" Legolas questioned again.

"Does it look grave?" Gimli chimed in now as well.

Rodaìn was surprised of their conversation as it proceeded. She was not necessarily startled by the words, but by the participants. She had not heard Boromir's deep voice yet, and he always seemed inclined to state his opinion, regardless of the issue at hand.

"I do not know," Aragorn replied in answer to Gimli and Legolas' questions,"but I hope not."

Rodaìn strained her ears to listen to the group now as they were led further away from the dead orcs. She remained silent, still not knowing whether or not to reveal herself. They had not specifically mentioned anything concerning her. But, then again, none of the members had spoken directly of the hobbits either.

"They ran over here. They were followed," Aragorn continued as he moved closer to Fangorn Forest, slowly tracking the escape of the hobbits and the near-escape of Rodaìn. "The tracks lead away from the battle," Rodaìn struggled to hear Aragorn's voice, "and into Fangorn Forest." _So he did not notice that my tracks were missing? I suppose that answers my question. I shall wait here until they enter Fangorn Forest to search for the hobbits. At least I know that they will be in safe hands. I shall make my way to Rohan-_

Rodaìn's thoughts were halted as Aragorn spoke yet again. "Queer."

"What is it, Aragorn?" Legolas asked.

"There are only two sets of hobbit footprints that lead into the forest. The human tracks have disappeared."

Gimli spoke up now. "What do you mean disappeared?"

"I do not see them enter the forest." Rodaìn supposed Aragorn was backtracking now. "The tracks get lost amid the orc footprints."

"Where could she have gone?" Legolas asked. Was that, _concern_, in his voice? _Surely I am hallucinating now. I am already dizzy from blood loss. _

"The lass couldn't have made it too far," Gimli added.

"Surely, she wasn't," Legolas' voice trailed off as he looked back at the orc bodies. Wisps of smoke continued to rise among the various bloodied limbs.

Aragorn's soft reply was muffled from the distance.

She was breathing heavily now, and worried what they would do. _Should I reveal myself to them now? Wait, when did I decide I was going to reveal myself to them? I was just a burden. I am a burden. _

Against her thoughts, Rodaìn slowly began to shift her left arm out from underneath the orc's torso. However, as she freed her arm, a stray orc leg toppled to the ground. Rodaìn slapped her hand back over her mouth, as if it would silence the noise.

Luckily, the three fellowship members were too consumed in their thoughts of their missing friends. Aragorn had begun pacing the area, searching desperately for more clues regarding Rodain's whereabouts. He examined the hobbit tracks again and, this time, noticed another set of tracks that trailed the hobbits'. "Legolas. Gimli. An orc ran into Fangorn Forest."

"Was he chasing the hobbits?" Gimli wondered.

"Or carrying Rodain," Legolas stated. _Rodaìn. That was the first time any member of the group had actually mentioned my name._

"It seems the only possible explanation," Aragorn wearily agreed.

Gimli was angered. "An orc! Taking the lassie! Why I'll get him!" Rodaìn was touched by Gimli's anger. No one had expressed such protective thoughts before, and she smiled slightly. She knew she had to confront the group.

However, as Rodaìn slowly struggled to remove the various orc limbs from her body, the company moved into Fangorn Forest. This made Rodaìn's actions more desperate, and she hurried to get up. She let out a sharp gasp as she lifted her back from the hard-packed terrain. Her position had forced her back to the ground, and pebbles and dirt had wriggled their way into her wounds. As Rodaìn finally made it to a standing position, she had to put her hands on some orc bodies to balance herself. She was still dizzy from blood loss and she could not remember when she last ate or drank. Her back would need to be cleaned and wrapped soon, as it was most likely already infected.

Rodaìn stumbled down to the path the fellowship had taken into the forest. _I can't believe I am doing this. Why? I have always been fine by myself. I do not need them. _But, her thoughts overpowered her true feelings that resonated softly in her mind. Rodain did need the fellowship. She craved their company, their kindness, their protection. They had treated her with respect, even though she was a woman.

Rodaìn continued to slowly make her way through the forest, but she was fearful that she could not catch up to her three healthy companions. Yet, at last, she heard them speaking as she made her way through the trees. Rodaìn stopped short._ How am I to announce myself? What do I do if they send me back because they no longer like me? What does-_

Rodaìn gave a yelp and fell, trembling, to the ground as an arrow whooshed past her head and into the tree she was leaning on for support. She had not anticipated being attacked by the same people that had previously taken her in so kindly.

As the three neared her, she heard Gimli gag. "Uh, what is that nasty smell? What've you been doing?"

Rodaìn did not know what to do. However, she was given no choice when she felt a cold, gleaming blade on her neck. "Who are you? Raise your face so that we may see you properly," Aragorn demanded.

Shakily, Rodaìn obeyed.

The group gasped.

"Lass!" Gimli erupted and tackled her to the ground in a warming hug. Rodaìn was ecstatic, but her face did not show it, and the feeling quickly dissipated. She knew Gimli did not mean it, but, when he had tackled her, the fire of pain burned anew and she let out a whimper. Rodaìn had experienced so much pain recently, she had grown familiar with the tearing flames that scratched through her back with deep talons. However, this familiarity did not lessen the pain.

"Gimli! Gimli, she's hurt," Legolas noticed immediately. Legolas and Aragorn quickly pulled Gimli off of Rodain.

Gimli apologized, "Oh, lass, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Rodaìn croaked out, her voice rough from a lack of water. She gave a hesitant smile to the group. She felt uncomfortable as they continued to stare at her.

Once Aragorn moved, everyone began to act. Aragorn knelt near her and drew out his water skin to offer it to her. Legolas silently walked around Rodaìn to observe any physical damage she had contracted. He let out a gasp as he saw her back. He was not as skilled in the art of healing as Aragorn was, but he knew that Rodaìn's wounds could be life-threatening. Aragorn looked up at Legolas as Rodaìn was still drinking from his water skin (in little sips, as Aragorn had instructed her). The look in Legolas' eyes conveyed the damage, and Aragorn gently rose to view Rodaìn's back.

"Lass, we're glad we found ya. We thought you were gone," Gimli told Rodaìn as her trembling hand lowered Aragorn's water skin from her cracked lips. She did not have the words to speak, and she gave Gimli another gentle smile.

Aragorn ran a hand through his unwashed hair in frustration and concern. Rodaìn's injuries were bad, but they would have to move her out of the forest to treat them. Rodaìn had already lost a multitude of blood, so someone would have to carry her through the forest swiftly. However, this would greatly aggravate her back. Aragorn did not wish to cause her any more pain than she was obviously enduring, but he had no choice if he wished to keep her alive.

Aragorn walked back to the front of Rodaìn and gently held her arm. Rodaìn flinched. "Forgive me, Lady Rodaìn. I should not have touched you." Rodaìn shook her head. She was ashamed as tears puddled down her cheeks. She hoped her down-turned face would hide them. It did not, however, as the tears did not escape Aragorn's notice. His heart broke for the young woman, and he wished he knew how to comfort her. "Lady Rodaìn, I am glad we found you. You are safe with us now. Okay? We will take care of you. I promise, milady. We will help you. I have to heal your wounds, but to do that we need to exit the woods. Is it acceptable with you if Legolas carries you out of the woods? We will do it as fast as possible, but I need to heal your wounds."

Rodaìn knew she did not have a choice. She did not want to be carried, for the sake of her dignity. However, she also knew that she would not survive without their help, and Aragorn's comforting words had minutely relaxed her anxiety-ridden nerves. "Yes, my lord," she whispered.

Aragorn let out a sad smile at her politeness, even at such extreme levels of pain. He nodded his head to Legolas, who stepped forward.

"I am going to pick you up now, my lady. This will hurt, but I promise I will be as gentle as I can. I am truly sorry for this," Legolas told her.

Rodaìn nodded her head in assent and Legolas picked her up, fitting her safely in his arms. Rodaìn sharply bit her tongue to prevent a scream as her back connected with his arm. She knew that they were helping her, and she did not wish to appear any more vulnerable. Rodaìn could not remember the last time someone had prolonged physical contact with her, and she was initially extremely stiff in Legolas' gentle hold.

The group began moving forward, slowly increasing their pace. Legolas did his best not to jostle the lady in his arms. He could not fathom the levels of pain she was enduring, and admired her bravery. Yet, her body was rigid, making it harder to steady her and preventing a completely secure grip. He whispered softly to her to relax her. "You are safe, my lady. We are here. Aragorn, Gimli and I. You shall not be alone. We will always be here for you. Hold on."

Rodaìn was still silently crying, with her head inches from Legolas' tunic, as he comforted her. She relaxed slightly at his assurances.

She was safe with this man, elf, and dwarf. They would help her to heal.


	9. A Tip Into the Current

**Thank you for the reviews, follows, and favorites! I appreciate anything and everything you say.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.**

Legolas lowered Rodaìn to the bedroll gently, mindful of her back. Rodaìn emitted an involuntary groan, however, as severe bruises lay burrowed across her stomach from the orcs' forceful abuse.

"Gimli, get a fire started, please," Aragorn said, quickly getting to work.

Gimli ran off to fulfill the task. He was strangely silent for one that seemed to talk endlessly.

"Lady Rodaìn." Rodaìn weakly turned her head towards Aragorn and listened with the remaining dregs of energy she was able to put to use. "In order to heal your back, I am going to have to remove your tunic. I realize it is highly improper and uncomfortable, but we must clean and bandage your back before proceeding to the healing halls of Rohan, else your wounds will grow even more infected. I will-"

"No!"

Rodaìn's croaked yelp startled the man and the elf.

"Milady, please. I know you do not wish it, but it is to save your life. I can order Gimli to turn away, but I am afraid I will require Legolas' help. Please, milady. We will not hurt you any further. You can trust in me that we only wish to heal you."

Trust. What a funny, twisted word. Trust is what he asked of her. She did not trust this group. That is why she was a wanderer, so that she could avoid such relationships. Relationships were constantly broken, smashed, smeared, and gutted. Yes, they may have been enjoyable, oftentimes fun. But what happened when trust was cracked and demolished? There was no point; it was fruitless. Rodaìn knew all bonds ended in the same way. She saw no purpose in letting the ghosts of relationships shove her mind and heart into a black abyss where wounds only grew deeper. Bonds with others were just another way to hurt herself. They were another way to drain her. They were another reason to stop living.

But did she want to trust this fellowship? Her mind spit back "no." Yet, a quiet whisper of "yes" wandered the recesses of her mind. A "yes" that was building into a small chorus. This was wrong- it should not spread. Rodaìn could not trust them. It would lead her nowhere. The "yes" shushed her, coddling the wounds inside. It spoke lovingly of Aragorn's kindness, of Legolas' concern, of Gimli's gentle humor, of Pippin's endearing actions, of Merry's uplifting antics, and even of Boromir's comforting confidence. It reminded her that they accepted her. The fellowship welcomed her to join their company and offered her meals, warmth, and guidance. They had watched over her. They had tirelessly searched for her (and the hobbits) and were taking great care to heal her! Maybe, just this once, she could trust them. She could test out their trust like dipping a foot in a river to measure its temperature. She decided to slide the tip of her toe into the current.

"Okay," she, still reluctantly, agreed.

Aragorn and Legolas looked relieved. There was little they could do if the lady was unwilling. Aragorn motioned to Legolas, and they positioned themselves on either side of Rodaìn. Legolas pulled out a small knife to cut Rodaìn's tunic as Aragorn retrieved his supply of athelas, bandages, and other healing items.

As Aragorn prepared the athelas, Legolas began to gingerly cut the coarse fabric of Rodaìn's olive green tunic. Of course, the tunic was now primarily brown and black from the lasting stains of orc blood and smears of mud embedded within the fabric. While Legolas sawed through her tunic, he began observing the gruesome details of her wounds. The four massive lashes were most likely a result of whipping, and the harshness of the weapon was highly apparent. The whip had torn through Rodaìn's clothing and fairly deep into her back. Sliver-like pieces of skin were entwined with the torn fabric of her garments. Legolas was able to slice her tunic in half fairly quickly, and gently folded it down.

With the initial layer gone, Legolas and Aragorn were able to view the even more horrific sight of her back.

A clattering of sticks interrupted their focus. "Oh, lass," Gimli whispered at the sight.

"Gimli, please hurry and build the fire near Lady Rodaìn. She is losing heat," Aragorn instructed, before turning back to his patient. Rodaìn's back was a mess. It was an ill-defined chaos of a bloodied cream sleeveless top and shredded bits of skin scattered on the valley of her back that was run over with rivulets of blood and entrenched with the crossings of the whiplashes.

"I'll do it, Legolas," Aragorn said, and Legolas passed the knife over to him. "Please forgive me, my lady," he whispered as he began sawing through the cloth in order to expose her back.

Rodaìn was in great pain, and bit down on her left harm to muffle her wails of anguish.

Aragorn continued, and was forced to abandon various pieces of red cloth that had leeched onto the wound. In some areas, it was difficult to acknowledge the difference between shreds of skin and patches of her garment. After he had finished cutting the fabric, Aragorn began, with as much gentleness as could be allowed, to tear the fabric from her back so that he could properly clean her wound. As he ripped the cloth from her back, a sharp yelp finally escaped Rodaìn's mouth, breaking the silence of her agony.

Aragorn and Legolas glanced at Rodaìn in sympathy. "You are strong, milady. Your dealings with this immense pain display more fortitude that some of my bravest fellow rangers and comrades. You are miraculous," Aragorn comforted and praised Rodain.

He reached to lightly soak a clean cloth in a bowl of water that Gimli had recently prepared, and Aragorn told Rodaìn, "I am afraid to say that this will be painful again, but I would just like to warn you, as the water on your back may startle you. Even with Aragorn's warning, Rodaìn's back contracted in a slight spasm as the first drop hit the edges of her wounds.

"We are truly sorry, my lady," Legolas apologized yet again.

Aragorn continued to brush the blood off Rodaìn's back, slowly nearing her wounds. As he brushed the smallest lash, Rodaìn sucked in a breath in a vain attempt to further distract herself from the pain. Aragorn proceeded, wiping away the wine-drenched bloodstains to clear the wounds. The dirt and grass were particularly difficult to eradicate, but Aragorn meticulously brushed away the unwanted particles.

Aragorn dropped the cloth in the bucket to let it soak in the blood-darkened water of the wooden bowl. Now able to closely observe the wound, he gently ran his hands over the raised surfaces of the whiplashes. Though various areas were tinged with a sage green, he concluded that, surprisingly, the infection was mild.

Next, Aragorn shared the bowl with Legolas, and they began to gently spread the athelas paste over Rodaìn's wounds. While Aragorn gently ran his hands over the wounds covering Rodaìn's shoulder blades, he noticed a peculiar marking that ran from her left shoulder, past her neck, and dropped down crookedly over her right shoulder blade. So as not to excessively touch her, he ran his finger over the marking near one of her wounds, and discovered it to be the raw, raised, and puckered surface of a scar. But how could one obtain a scar such as that? Why would one harm a lady so? Aragorn was at a loss, and silently attracted Legolas' attention to the mysterious scar. When Legolas' eyes alighted upon it, he appeared astounded as well, but quickly turned back to healing her wounds. They would discuss it later.

After completing that task, Aragorn lightly patted Rodaìn's back dry with a fresh cloth. Then, Aragorn and Legolas worked together to efficiently bandage Rodaìn's battered self.

"Lady Rodaìn, we have finished," Aragorn notified the down-turned face of the injured lady. Getting no response, Aragorn gently peered downwards to discover that Rodaìn had lost consciousness, most likely as he was peeling the bits of cloth from her back. He was surprised she had not closed her eyes earlier, as the pain of healing her wounds neared the experience in which the wounds were thrown onto her.

Aragorn stood up to begin cleaning his supplies while Legolas fetched several blankets to layer over Rodaìn. Before moving fully away from the lady, a final glimpse showed Aragorn her tear stained cheeks. They were tears that had come silently and unknowingly, just as they had slid through the world unnoticed for so many years. Aragorn had noticed them now.

* * *

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli sat on the bedrolls around the fire, watching over a sleeping Rodaìn. The smoke of Aragorn's pipe drifted upwards and dissipated into the depths of the starry night sky. Empty bowls squatted near burning lumber and the residuum of broth gradually dried up.

Uncomfortable with the extended silence, Gimli swiveled his eyes between Aragorn and Legolas. Aragorn's gaze was fixed on the ground as he continued puffing at his pipe, and Legolas was staring past Rodaìn, into the tree-lined cloak of the forest. Finally, disrupting the silence for himself but still maintaining a level voice so as not to awake Rodaìn, Gimli started out, "Will the lass be alright, Aragorn?"

Silence confronted his question and left it hanging in the air, floating with the clouds. Gimli was ready to yank down on his string of words to send out the question again, but Aragorn responded. "Yes, I believe she will be," he said, shifting his gaze to her sleeping form.

"And, will it take long for her to heal?" Gimli asked, desiring more information than the blunt answer the ranger had previously delivered.

Aragorn sighed and ran a hand from his forehead into his dark, wavy hair before responding. "If all proceeds well, her back should heal in a month. However, I know not of any other injuries she may be suffering from. I did not have time to fully examine her well-being, but her back was the most severe injury. Judging by the brutality from those wounds, I would assume that the orcs' abuse affected her elsewhere." Aragorn tensed up as he finished speaking. Gimli was interested as to the transformation of Aragorn's attitude toward Rodain. Initially, he had held himself aloof. Now, his concern for Rodaìn's health was undeniable. All of the members of the fellowship had grown to accept her and care for her. Yet, each held a sliver of distrust and caution for the strange woman.

"Aragorn, the scar on Lady Rodaìn's back," Legolas started, turning his eyes on Rodain. "What do you think that was?" The sudden inquiry from the previously silent prince drew Aragorn and Gimli's attention to Legolas. Among the many mysteries of Rodaìn, Aragorn had been mulling over the origin of her scar as well.

"Scar? What scar?" Gimli exclaimed, suddenly worried.

Aragorn's gaze was fixed on the hard-packed soil again. Legolas answered, "There was a scar on the lady's back. It ran from shoulder to shoulder." Legolas turned toward his companion in question, "Aragorn?"

Aragorn's stress was vastly apparent. "I'm not sure, my friend. We were not able to view it for long, but, from what I observed, it looked to be a burn. The scar was too dark to be from anything else. I have not the slightest idea how she obtained it though, it's as if," Aragorn cleared his throat, "as if something sharp and heated was dragged over her skin. Most likely on purpose," Aragorn mumbled this final statement.

Legolas stood up, silent but deep anger etched on his fine features.

"A burn?" Gimli angrily mused. "Aragorn, you're making it sound like she was branded- like cattle."

"I know not, Gimli," Aragorn replied. "I still do not fully trust her, of course. Her mystery deepens with every drop of knowledge she gradually hands to us."

"Aye. I like the lass, though. Now, what do we do about those hobbits?"

"We must first attend to Lady Rodaìn, but then, I suppose, we track their paths through Fangorn Forest to find them. Then, we will continue to aid Frodo in his quest.

Gimli let out a huff of assent and settled into his bedroll. Aragorn also lay down, but his gray eyes stared at the stars the remainder of the night as his calloused hands held tight to the necklace that his own star, Arwen, had given him before he left with the fellowship.

Legolas' attentive gaze penetrated the forest and soared over the horizon, while his mind fiddled with the twisted mystery of Rodaìn of Gondor.


	10. Seregon

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Rodaìn woke up feeling stiff. She tensed her muscles, grasping the buttermilk sheets in her hands. Rodaìn's back rested on the firm mattress, and she could feel the crusts of scabs beneath the bandages that were locked around her body. She released the sheets, but only partially relaxed her muscles.

After laying there for several minutes, allowing her body to awaken more fully, Rodaìn inched her way out of bed while keeping her back as straight as possible. She may have laughed at herself for her stiff, puppet-like motions, if it were not for the immense pain that she was trying to avoid.

Finally, with her feet on the frigid stone floor of the room, Rodaìn stood. She looked down at her hands which were molded with blue hills where her veins stood out. She soothed the gravelly feeling in her throat with the glass of water that a thoughtful individual had placed on her bedside table.

After setting the vessel down gently, Rodaìn looked out of the arched window to the right of the bed. She never grew tired of looking at the outdoors. The settlements grew sparse as her gaze moved farther into the distance; the elevated height of the structure she was in provided her a magnificent view of the rolling hills of Rohan. She turned her attention back to the city for a moment, and sighed at the dilapidated state of the buildings and the gloomy mien that the people of Rohan exuded. Suddenly, a hawk swept through the channels between the houses; chickens scattered for safety in wake of the threat. Rodaìn watched in amazement as the bird of prey rose above the settlements and launched into a current of wind, effortlessly soaring over the plains. She admired the freedom of birds: feathers that supported their lithe bodies, the ability to fly above all of the troubles of the earth, and no chains that bound them to one area of the land. Yet, birds had responsibilities-eating, caring for their young, finding water-but Rodain did not think of these. No, she saw the freedom their wings gave them: nothing tied them down.

Rodaìn was reminded of the past, but did not dwell on it. She was not thinking of the bandages that scraped against her wounds, nor even of the company of companions that had saved her. Rodaìn had emptied her mind, and she filled it with the sights of Rohan. Her vision traced the edge of the windowsill and looked down at the ground—so far away—covered with dirt, dust, and the edge of a cobblestone path.

Her musings were intruded upon by the resounding echoes of a knock on the door-her door. The noise caused Rodaìn to start. She felt like a disobedient child, caught out of bed late at night. Her mind and senses were suddenly flooded, so different from her previously empty state of mind.

Rodaìn suddenly felt self-conscious, and fell to a seated position on the bed, wincing in pain at the sudden movement. She wiped her face, while watching the door, but looked down momentarily at the liquid on her fingers-tears.

Before Rodaìn gave permission for entrance, the wooden door opened soundlessly, most likely because the figures entering believed the occupant of the room to be asleep.  
Legolas and Gimli entered the room in the early dawn light. She smiled a little at the sight of her companions, her friends. Prepared to find a sleeping Rodaìn, the entrants to the room both appeared shocked at the sight of Rodaìn sitting up on the bed. They both returned a smile though, happy to see her awake.

"How are you feeling, my lady?" Legolas asked.

"Fine," she responded. She knew that "fine" never meant fine, and that he and Gimli held that knowledge as well. Rodaìn dug up a sliver more of effort to renew her smile, in order to make her statement more believable.

Her effort helped, but Legolas and Gimli still saw her pain beneath her wavering smile. Gimli was surprisingly silent, and Rodaìn was puzzled at this, as he was typically the most talkative of the group. Legolas stepped forward, and placed a full glass of water on the bedside table.

"Tha-" Rodaìn stopped to clear her throat, "Thank you, b-but I already have water," Rodaìn told Legolas, motioning to the almost-full glass near her bed.

Legolas smiled, and pulled something out that was previously hidden between the side of his belt and tunic. "You are welcome, but I considered a different use for this glass, if that is acceptable with you."

Intrigued, Rodaìn nodded. She froze when she saw the splash of blood in his hand though. It was a cluster of seregon-star-shaped flowers in a shade of deep red. _Seregon, seregon, seregon. _ The word burned in her mind. Tears scalded her eyes. Memories concealed themselves within the fragile shells of teardrops, bursting open when they hit the skin of her cheeks; each burst was a spark in her mind, a scorch-mark felt only by her. _"It's about time you do something useful, don't you think so?"_ She clenched her nails into her palms, trying to ward off the anxiety. _Every nook was filled with seregon. _ Her left foot was shaking now. She could not handle this, not in her already weakened state. _"They are your favorite, just like you are my favorite." _ A body loomed above her and hands were grasping for her own.

"-dy Rodaìn!" Her name floated in and out of reality, and she was in the in-between of a panic attack. "Rodaìn!" Finally, the filmy membrane of memory-filled tears broke open and she could see. A panicked Aragorn hovered over her, and she instinctively pushed him away, utilizing the dregs of her draining energy.

Aragorn stumbled back, concerned eyes rapidly scanning Rodain. They stared at each other, Rodain breathing heavily. She did not even noticed Legolas and Gimli's worried looks from across the room, where Aragorn had instructed them when he arrived swiftly in the room; a frantic maid had informed him of Rodaìn's condition after Legolas had hurriedly yelled out for aid in the hallway. Rodaìn looked at the glass that Legolas had almost dropped the seregon flowers into, and her anxiety was slightly alleviated at the disappearance of the flowers. Her eyes hurriedly flitted over the room, but the flowers were out of sight.

Seeing that she was calming down, Aragorn took a quiet step forward. Rodaìn's eyes fixed back on him, but she relaxed at his now-recognizable presence. "It is okay now, Rodaìn. You are alright. No harm is here. It is okay," he reassured her, moving closer to her bedside. Rodaìn nodded, embarrassed that the group had witnessed her panic, and turned her gaze downward.

She opened up her palms and was momentarily surprised by their raw appearance and the redness rimming the crescents of her fingernails. An unusual pained heat radiated from her chest, and she looked down to see red scratch marks marring the skin surrounding her collar bones. Scratching herself was a common reaction when she felt trapped and suffocated during a panic attack.

"May I see your hands, to make sure they are not hurt?" Aragorn asked in a quiet but forceful tone.

"No, no thank you. They are fine," Rodaìn responded, smoothing her palms against each other, concealing them, as she already felt a sufficient amount of embarrassment from the situation.

Aragorn ran a hand through his hair, but acquiesced and sighed. "Very well. I must inquire though as to how your other injuries fairing. Is anything in immense pain?"

"It's bearable, thank you," Rodaìn replied.

It was a rather unsatisfying response, but he had to take it easy on the young woman, who was in such a fragile state just moments ago. "Well, I must check for a fever, to make sure the infection has not taken over," Aragorn insisted. After receiving a nod from Rodaìn, he reached forward and briefly placed his palm on her forehead. "It seems that you do not have a fever, which is a very good sign," Aragorn informed her, smiling.

He then walked over to Legolas and Gimli, and conversed with them quietly for a moment.

"Should we tell the lass?" Gimli gruffly whispered to Aragorn.

"No, now is not the time," he replied, glancing over at Rodaìn's exhausted and weary form on the bed. "We should withhold that news, along with any questions, until she is more well-rested."

"I agree. I do not think she can handle much more today," Legolas added.

"You are right, Legolas. She is in need of healing, and more rest will help her in that endeavor. Let us leave her to get some rest."

Legolas and Gimli left the room after bidding Rodaìn a pleasant rest. Aragorn approached her for a final time before he left. "Is there anything you would like, milady? Anything I can do for you?"

"No, thank you," Rodaìn sighed. "But, um, how long will it be until you think I am healed?" she asked before he turned to depart.

"I would say at least another day or two until you will have the strength to walk around for longer periods of time. Your ankle is healing nicely, but the lashes on your back will prevent any strenuous movement in the coming weeks. You will heal faster if you relax and sleep, so that your body may recover. I will be back to check on your wounds later today. For now, I wish you a pleasant rest, milady."

Rodaìn emitted an incoherent mumble before Aragorn left. Aragorn closed the door softly, hoping that her recovery would be successful and fast. Rodaìn did not deserve more pain or hardship.


	11. Speechless

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Rodaìn opened her eyes to the beckoning calls of birds. Her room was dark in the early dawn. Her body felt refreshed with a dreamless rest. She closed her eyes again and enjoyed the stillness, her mind floating peacefully in the quiet morning hours.

Sometime later, a woman preceded by a soft knock entered the room. Sensing Rodaìn's current tranquility, the woman changed her bandages and looked after Rodaìn's health without exchanging words. Silence was not to be shattered by petty conversations. The woman-a nursemaid-left a lamp burning in Rodaìn's room and exited as noiselessly as she entered.

With no reading materials and little else to keep her occupied, Rodaìn's eyes proceeded to watch the flame of the lamp. It flickered in a way that told its own story: up and down, side to side, eating oxygen to stay alive. The birds provided the music to the scene-setting the stage with a light and playful chorus.

The performance of the flame shifted suddenly to the left as a gust of wind blew through the room as the door was opened. A young girl set a small breakfast on the bedside table. Rodaìn blushed in thanks. The girl left silently.

Mesmerized by the flame again, Rodaìn now nibbled on a piece of bread. However, her stomach quickly realized it was near-empty. Rodaìn hastily consumed the bread and the remaining nourishment on the plate and quenched her thirst with the provided water.

Despite the few interruptions, Rodaìn's placid mien was largely undisturbed and she closed her eyes once more, relaxed.

* * *

As the sun climbed to its peak in the sky, Rodaìn began to grow restless. Luckily, a knock on the door sounded. Rodaìn cleared her throat, and called for those outside to enter. Aragorn was first. He looked slightly more at ease than usual with a tender-hearted smile on his face. He had undertaken many responsibilities within the fellowship, which added stress to the already grueling circumstances. She was glad that he was able to take some respite here. Rodaìn had expected Gimli and Legolas to be trailing Aragorn, but neither proceeded into the room.

Leaving the door slightly ajar, Aragorn greeted her with a kind "Good afternoon."  
"Thank you. And to you as well," Rodaìn managed with a smile.

"How are you fairing?" Aragorn's eyes instinctively scanned her figure in the bed. He sensed that her healing was progressing well. His hand reached out to clasp one of Rodaìn's in both a gesture of comfort, and to discretely skim his fingers over the self-inflicted wounds she had incurred during her panic attack the previous day. Aragorn felt no scabbing, meaning the wounds had not drawn blood, to which he was grateful. "Are you resting well?" he asked.

"I feel a lot less pain, so I think the healing is progressing smoothly. Thank you for asking, my lord. The sounds of Rohan are calming," Rodaìn replied, glancing out the window. Though Aragorn noticed she had evaded his second question, he allowed it to be ignored for the moment.

"That is good to hear," his smile widened. "There is much news that you have yet to hear, Lady Rodaìn. Do you feel able enough to listen? It is not all good news, I fear," Aragorn warned.

Eager to be provided with a task, Rodaìn nodded her head. Nevertheless, the forewarning of negative news ripped apart the blanket of calm that had settled over her. Anxiety began slithering its way up her body like a snake. Rodaìn readjusted herself in the bed, attempting to loosen the snake's grip.

"Very well. Though the journey through Fangorn Forest to Rohan was filled with blackness for you, we happened upon a shock of whiteness. Not a full day after you had lost consciousness, we came upon Gandalf, one of our former traveling companions whom we thought had passed on, in the forest. However, we did not initially recognize him; for, he is no longer Gandalf the Gray, but Gandalf the White. He has graciously informed us that the hobbits Merry and Pippin are both safe with the ents." Rodaìn sighed in relief. She had hoped that the bad news did not pertain to her two hobbit friends. Seeing the alleviation on her face, Aragorn felt joy for her. He pressed on to the sour portion of what he had to tell. "Unfortunately, not all is well. After you and the hobbits were taken by the orcs at Amon Hen, our beloved companion Boromir was struck by three arrows and fell. Rodaìn gasped. Boromir had died fighting to protect them? Her mind was overwhelmed with grief. _Hold it back, now is not the time for weakness and worry._

Rodaìn swallowed her sorrows and stated, "He-he was a brave man."

"Indeed. That he was. Very much so," Aragorn solemnly agreed.

The atmosphere was tense with mourning and loss. Aragorn's next words did nothing to lighten the atmosphere.

"Lady Rodaìn, would you...like to talk about last night?" Aragorn asked, referencing her panic attack spurred by the seregon flowers presented by Legolas.

Rodaìn's eyes widened. She quickly shook her head and averted his gaze, not trusting any words that may escape her mouth or wanting him to see the fear in her eyes.

Aragorn sighed. "I understand you may be uncomfortable talking about it. Never hesitate to converse with any of the fellowship though, milady. We are all here for you and care for you." Aragorn was not surprised that Rodaìn did not desire to open up, but he simply wanted to learn more about her. Perhaps, through knowing more, he could trust her more. Still, he was growing to care for her. He, as well as the others, felt the need to at least look out for her well being, just as all the members of the fellowship constantly did for each other. "I apologize milday, but would you be opposed to Legolas entering the room and speaking to you? I can stay here if you like."

Rodaìn was intrigued by his question, wondering if Aragorn was implementing some sort of sly tactic, and her distrust was raised slightly. Although the logical portion of her mind told her that Legolas likely knew nothing of the negative association she had with seregon, Rodaìn could not deny that the innocent elf's actions had spurred fear of his character. She surveyed Aragorn's expression. Believing his honesty yet still not wholly at ease, Rodaìn acquiesced.

"I am glad," Aragorn smilled assuringly. "Legolas, the lady has given you permission to enter," Aragorn called to the hallway.

Legolas floated through the door like a ghost. It was a wise decision Rodaìn had not confided anything personal in Aragorn, as Legolas, with his heightened senses, would have undoubtedly listened in. She felt she could say nothing in confidence while the elf was around. The reasons to hold suspicion against this fellowship never seemed to lessen. At Legolas' entrance, Rodaìn shuttered minutely, fighting to harness her fear. _Not him, not the same place. I am in Rohan now. With Legolas. He did not know. He was not aware. _

Legolas, knowing he had frightened and potentially offended the lady the previous night, kept his muscles relaxed and his facade soft. He wished to comfort her and convince her that he meant no harm, especially to the extent she seemed to expect. Still keeping his distance so as not to overwhelm her, Legolas spoke, "Lady Rodaìn, I offer my deepest and most sincere apologies for frightening and upsetting you the other day. I assure you, I had no intention to do so, and would take back my actions if I could. I was simply attempting to brighten your day, but I see that I have instead destroyed it. I plead your forgiveness for my actions."

Rodaìn was touched by his apology. Legolas had no inkling that the gesture of presenting a bouquet of flowers would send her into a state like that of a frightened animal. It was simply a kind gesture. Rodaìn understood that. She had mulled it over that morning. Her mind was finally convinced that he had not intended harm and that he knew nothing of her association with seregon; his apology only solidified that. Rodaìn was embarrassed that he saw her reaction as his fault; she knew that it was all her own. _Stupid girl. You always ruin others._ _They must think you are so weak. _Eager to appease Legolas' uneasiness, Rodaìn replied, "My lord, I accept your apology. Thank you for your sincerity. However, my reaction was not your fault." She did not voice that she blamed herself, as she did for many things. "I know you had no ill intent, and meant it only as a kind offering," she added in reassurance.

Upon hearing this, Legolas relaxed slightly, smiled, and gave his thanks. Aragorn, too, was relieved that Rodaìn had so favorably received Legolas' apology.

"I feel we have brought enough weight on you today, Lady Rodaìn," Aragorn frowned. He knew she was strong of both mind and body, but even the strong could falter under excess burdens. "Perhaps it is time to let you rest in hope of rapid healing."

"Indeed. I wish you a pleasant rest, my lady," Legolas addressed her.

She smiled and nodded her head at both of them, grateful for their care.

"Rest well," Aragorn instructed her, softly shutting the door behind Legolas and himself, leaving Rodaìn in the dark once more to heal.

* * *

Healing, however, did not come easy to Rodaìn. At least in the matter of mental healing. Sitting in bed for copious hours alone prompted her mood to steadily sink. She felt caged. She despised the birds she admired the other day. Why couldn't she be free, running again, with no cares and only comfort, support, and love? Her fingers roamed over the grooves her nails had carved into her palms last night. Why couldn't she control her fear and anxiety? Why was she always so weak? A screw-up. Tears began to leak from her eyes. They rolled down her cheeks, and dropped onto her nightgown like scattered paint-drops. No one comforted her while she was crying. No one had since she was a child. Rodaìn missed her mother's encompassing arms. She wondered how many others felt like her-alone and drowning. Her thoughts collided around the recesses of her mind, sinking into deeper and darker territory.

A knock on the door paused Rodaìn's dark thoughts. She rapidly wiped the tears from her eyes before calling for the one outside her door to enter.

"Good evening, my lady. I apologize. Am I disturbing you?" the man said, sticking his torso through the partially opened door.

Had he noticed her dried tears or her red-splotched cheeks? Had he seen her depressed eyes? She hoped against these thoughts. Such appearances did not culminate in a favorable first impression in her view. She could handle herself. Rodaìn replied politely, "No, my lord, please come in."

"Are you sure? I can return at a later time, 'tis no trouble."  
"I assure you that you are most welcome at this time, my lord," Rodaìn said, surprised but appreciative of his courtesy. She sat up straighter and pushed her dark thoughts back, deep into her mind once more. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

"Thank you, Lady Rodaìn. Excuse me, I beg your pardon for not introducing myself," the man relayed, approaching Rodaìn's bedside. "I am Lord Deviran of Gondor, a blacksmith, son of Onoreth. It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady," the gentleman stated with a bow.

"And you as well, Lord Deviran," Rodaìn replied. Her intrigued eyes hovered on the sac that was propped carefully over his shoulder.

"I see you keep your eyes on the prize, my lady," Deviran chuckled, noticing her gaze.

Rodaìn blushed. "I am sorry, my lord. I get few visitors, so everything new interests me," she said, turning her gaze downward in embarrassment. Nevertheless, her curiosity was still piqued.

Deviran titled his head back, his shoulder-length chestnut hair falling back as his eyes gleamed in joy. "No need to ask for my pardon, my lady. I am only jesting with you. I figured you may be in need of a bit of lightness. From what I have gathered, you will be restricted to this bed for a time."

Rodaìn smiled, more at ease. Her mood was lifted by this young stranger. Rodaìn was slightly disconcerted at the amount of information he knew about her, but she assumed it was easily attainable and likely already a strand in the rope of gossip that wove its way around Rohan. "That is correct, I am afraid."

"I still see I am holding you in great suspense though," Deviran winked at her, gesturing to the package resting on his back. "It is now time to reveal what I carry in this bag, I suppose." He hefted the bag from his shoulder theatrically and set it gently on a nearby table. With his back to Rodaìn, Deviran unwound the string and gently slid the item out of the sac.

Though excited, Rodaìn was also nervous, but she hoped this vibrant man would not harm her. She was relieved that he had left the door slightly ajar.

"Here we are, my lady," Deviran said in a loud voice, spinning around dramatically. The object in his hands elicited a gasp from Rodaìn. A new bow! Rodaìn was stunned. She had lost hers at Amon Hen. She carefully extended her hands to feel the bow. It was beautiful. Crafted from sleek wood, it felt sturdy and light, and was of significantly higher quality than her former bow. Rodaìn's hands could not stop roaming over the magnificent weapon, already seeking to gain the feeling of all of its workings. Surely this bow could not be for her, not a product of such high of quality?

Deviran watched Rodaìn interact with the bow. Her appreciation was quickly apparent. Grinning down at her, he took pride in his work and the joy it brought. Though a craftsman, he primarily worked with swords as a blacksmith, and had little experience with bows, especially one suitable for a woman. Yet, it appeared his efforts had been well worth the toil, as the lady before him could barely contain her excitement. Deviran believed that if she was not bedridden, she would likely have sprinted for the training grounds, eager as a child who receives a new doll. Regardless, Deviran could not help himself, asking, "What do you think of it, my lady?"

"It is gorgeous! I have never felt a bow so taut and sturdy. Who is it for?" Rodaìn asked, careful not to assume.

Deviran laughed yet again. "Why, it is for you, my lady! Of course! I am glad you enjoy it. I was careful in the crafting of it."

Rodaìn was stunned. It was for her? This gentleman made it? How did this all come about? She had not spoken to anyone about her missing bow. She was nearly too astonished to speak. "My-my lord, thank you so much. I will cherish it always. I cannot w-wait to use it. Thank you," Rodaìn stuttered, looking at him in amazed.

"Of course, Lady Rodaìn. Anything for a lovely lady like yourself." At this, Rodaìn blushed fiercely. She had so many questions, but Deviran gathered the now-empty sack and headed back toward the door in a flash of activity. "I do hope you find light in your coming days, my lady. I hope to see you again," he said, his brown eyes connecting with hers.

Rodaìn merely nodded, still rendered speechless. With that, the door shut, and Rodaìn was alone once more. This time, though, with a new gift and a new friend.


End file.
